


A Midautumn Afternoon's Fuckup

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, stupid and likely dumb
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 16:06:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2779325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He told you he was something of a magical forest creature, sans butterfly wings and tiara. A fox spirit, he told you. Something that had originated in Japan and was accidentally shipped over to North America in the times of the colonies when hunters had gotten a little too frisky. The fox population was down and the people had gotten pretty damn infatuated with just how perfect fox pelts were, thus they brought in some more, unintentionally bringing along a few of the special ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Midautumn Afternoon's Fuckup

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for any spelling/grammar mistakes! There hasn't been time to properly edit.
> 
> ((This probably won't be continued since it was a terrible 2 AM idea and was poorly written.))

You gave yourself a good once-over in the mirror, inspecting your face thoughtfully. You'd managed to cultivate some particularly decent facial hair, none worthy of the title of _lumberjack,_ however you felt that it suited you and your line of work: woodsman, moderately efficient game hunter, amateur taxidermist, lamentable secretary for an remorseful rental car company. The stubble lining your jaw and upper lip certainly contributed to your rugged visage, which you prided yourself on.  
  


You liked to consider yourself something of a rough-and-tumble gent, as you lived in solitude on the mountainous terrain of Vermont. You had made you home in an old rundown ski lodge, which you had renovated thoroughly. It was a miracle that you had even been able to afford the property as your place of employment wasn't exactly high-paying. You believed the lovely saleswoman you had purchased the lodge from mentioned that several people were murdered here by the blade of an ax, not that that spooked you at all. Such information had greatly reduced the price (and value) of your home. It was by all means a steal.

The surrounding flora and fauna provided excellent reserves for your favorite seasonal activity: trekking through the woods, hunting rifle in hand, scouting for the poor beast unfortunate enough to encounter your illustrious skill. Lucky for you, today was a Saturday. The brisk Autumn breeze stirred the leaves that littered the ground outside.

You laced up your boots and prepared the supplies necessary for a day of sporting in the woods. Bears had become something of a problem around you home, though it was said that they were supposed to by shy. You hoped not to encounter any today. You'd set up a line of defense around the lodge. Bears traps were quite frankly unethical in your mind, though it certainly discouraged the buggers from entering your premises in the wee hours of the morning. Waking up to a bear rooting through your garbage was quite possibly the most terrifying thing you've ever experienced.

You finished readying your things and grabbed your rifle, heading out the door and into the wilderness.

The first unfortunate soul you encountered was a rabbit. With your absolutely legendary hunting skill you managed to... lose it. And in the process of losing it you got yourself lost. However, you knew the woods surrounding your home like the back of your hand. You weren't all that familiar with the back of your hand. 

Not to worry, though! You spotted a snare of your own creating hiding in a nearby bush. You've been in this area before! If there's one trap, there must be more scattered about. You could follow them back into the safety of recognizable territory. Saved again by your epic wit!

You picked your way through the trees carefully, not wanting to be a victim of your own device. You walked by way of the snares for a while till you eyed a bear trap nesting in the leaves. You must certainly be close to home now! You walked towards the gaping maw of the trap when you heard a hoarse cry not far off. Mayhaps a damsel in distress is calling for your aid!

You snorted at your own comical pursuits. Epic wit indeed.

You waited for whatever you'd caught to cry out again before bounding off to find it.

As you approached the source of the noise, it began to die down into a shrill whisper for assistance. You rounded the tree obscuring your view and, to your horror, found the victim of one of your bear traps. You had ensnared a boy no taller than a meter and a half! A child! You stared at him in shock, taking in the grizzly scene.

"Help."

Oh dear! He appeared to be covered in blood and open wounds. Had you snagged some sort of woodland leper? As you took a tentative step forward it became clear that the aforementioned blood and wounds weren't gore at all but streaks of dirt. Phew.

The boy was staring at you pleadingly. That was when you eyed the fox's ears and tail he had apparently chosen to accessorize with. Might he be a consummate animal enthusiast? Or perhaps one of those... _furries_? 

He whimpered softly. Oh, right. The jaws of the trap were still clamped around his ankle. You stood on the springs of the trap to release his foot.

As soon as he was freed he scooted away from you and clutched at his injury. Blood was spilling from between his fingers.

Your mind was flopping wildly on the ground beside you. You wished that you could come back to your senses. Any thought you had though was focused on how utterly disgusting that wound would be. You had to deal with it didn't you? It was an innocent in your trap... Your responsibility. What would your average survivalist do? Stop the bleeding! The first step into the wonderful world of not watching another person die before your eyes! You ripped a sleeve off your shirt with the intention to use the fabric to staunch his wound.

As you kneeled by him, he backed again. You were quite certain that without your assistance he would die, though you weren't exactly sure how to tell him that. The severity of the situation had you at a loss for words.

You held up your hands to show that you wren't aspiring to cause him further harm and moved towards him once more. He didn't flee from your aid this time, which you were quite thankful for. However, he wouldn't take his hands from his ankle. 

Did he not want you to help him?

That was likely incorrect.

You had to pry his fingers apart to gain access to the injury. You wrapped your sleeve tightly around it. The sleeve was promptly soaked by blood.

You bit your lip, unsure of how to proceed. You were absolutely useless in emergencies. You were no doctor...

Doctor! You had to take him to a hospital! It was a wonder that this didn't occur to you earlier. Apparently your epic wit comes and goes as it pleases.

The closest emergency room would be in... Burlington. Burlington was hours away! The young lad before you would likely bleed out in the time it took you to drive him to the hospital. From the glimpse you'd gotten of his wound, it was assuredly no mere papercut. It had looked horrendously deep; down to the bone, no doubt. A bucket of ice-cold guilt was dumped over your head.

You'd done this to him! A child!

There was no time for you to bemoan the fact that you had harmed an innocent, however.

"Erm... Do you think you'll be able to walk?" you could hear the fright in your own voice. Surely your own fear wasn't doing him any good.

He stared at you incredulously. 

"I assume that you are incapable at the moment, considering the current predicament which we face," you sounded foolish.

"How very astute," he said through gritted teeth. You weren't expecting any snark, especially while he was in such a terrible position.

It was a tad disparaging, in fact. You weren't quite sure how to respond to that. He was being quite rude, considering you were only trying to help him. More interestingly, he didn't sound all that young, as his height had implied. It didn't sound as though he were an adult either, though. A teenager, you concluded.

"Well, I live over yonder," you motioned vaguely in the direction you believed the lodge was in. "I think it might be best if you come with me."

He looked at you skeptically before nodding ever so slightly. "I can't walk though, remember?"

You considered this for a moment. "I could easily carry you there," you suggested.

There was a horrified look on his face. You figured you had just inadvertently insulted his masculinity. "I'm quite certain that is the only possible option, however degrading," you shrugged.

He looked down at his ankle and cringed. It was quite the nasty wound. The teeth of the trap had bitten right through the leg of his trousers.

Speaking of apparel, you noticed his was particularly shabby. The think jacket he was wearing was ragged and weather-worn. The knees of his bottoms were torn wide. He wasn't even wearing any shoes. Not to mention the tail and ears. You still weren't sure what that was all about.

A homeless fauna fanatic? Odd. You'd never encountered one of those before.

You reached out to him, causing him to back away from you again. He was skittish, that was for sure. However, you weren't about to leave him by his lonesome so that he could die. He was, after all, your responsibility. Somewhat. You'd been the one who'd hindered his ability to function normally.

It seemed as though he'd rather you leave him to his fate than have you carry him.

You made to move towards him once more. The ears sprouting from beneath his fair locks laid back. It was almost as if they were... real. That was certainly concerning, but you supposed it would have to be discussed at a later time. You did have to deal with a snide adolescent whom, though injured, was refusing to let you assist him. You were dawdling enough as it was.

When he didn't scoot away from you again, you figured he had finally resigned to the fact that there would be no other way to get to the lodge other than in your arms. The thought amused you.

You scooped him up and held him, trying to elevate his wounded leg as much as you possibly could.

Holding him proved to be harder than you had expected; he kept squirming about, seemingly trying to escape your grasp. He was likely scared. After all, to him you were a strange man int he woods who had caught him in a bear trap. Now you were taking him to your isolated home, miles away from civilization. Hell, you'd be scared if you were in his shoes.

It might be bets to try and put his mind at ease.

You began walking quickly towards your home whilst making a sad attempt at conversation. 

"My name's Jake," you offered. It sounded awkward.

He didn't respond.

Here you were, trying to make small talk with a wounded stranger whom you were carrying off from any remnants of protection he might've bared. That sounded quite alarming. It became quite clear to you that everything you said would sound awkward from here on out. You understood why he didn't want to respond to your idiocy.

You decided to shut up for the remainder of the walk home.

You felt him tense up as you left the shelter of the trees and approached the lodge. It was a large building, shadowed and monolithic against the sunlight streaming behind it.

It took you a moment or two to open the door since you hands were rather preoccupied with the support of a bleeding leg. You made your way through the back room and into the kitchen. You set him down on one of the counters, having his feet rest in the sink so as to not get blood all over everywhere.

You untied the sleeve from around his ankle and he winced. You proceeded to turn the faucet on and run water over his wound, which apparently hurt. You were quite sure you heard him whimper. A glance up revealed that his face was flushed red and there were tracks of wet tears upon his cheeks. You couldn't imagine what it must have been like to step in a bear trap of all things. Surprising, definitely. Painful, also definitely. Closer investigation of the injury revealed that he would certainly need a number of stitches. Immediate hospitalization would be the best course of action, and yet... Burlington was so far away. You'd have to patch him up to the best of your abilities in the interim.

You told him it would be best if you took him to the hospital. He hastily disagreed.

"I can't. I'm... Well, shit. Isn't it obvious?" he gritted out as you continued to wash blood and dirt form his wound.

You stared at him blankly while you wrapped a rag around his ankle.

"I'm kind of... special."

"Special?" you were getting more and more confused by the minute. He doesn't want to go to a doctor because he's special? Unheard of.

"Like, dissection-worthy special," his voice grew quiet.

Oh gosh, was he an alien? That would explain his less-than-human characteristics. Imagine! You, aiding an extraterrestrial being! It sounded like the synopsis of a movie!

You attempted to push away such stupid thoughts and instead focused on his ankle. You gracefully changed the subject back to the proper treatment for his injury.

Apparently, you weren't as tactful as you thought you were.

"I'm not some kind of monster," he said defensively.

"I said nothing of the sort," you replied.

"You made a face."

Oh. Whoopsie.

"Not that I blame you. I'd be weirded out if I found some creepy anthro freak int he woods too," he said softly.

You informed him that this would certainly require stitches and that you were not confident in your ability to perform such a procedure.

He remained adamant about not being taken to a hospital. He also said that if you were too scared to, he would find a way to do it himself.

You find him immensely frustrating.

You had some practice at sewing, patching up the knees of your pants and such, but you'd never sewn flesh before. Just the thought of it made you cringe. I wasn't though you had any anesthetics laying around either. You might have a few small painkillers, but nothing to mask the smart of a needle in your skin. You were at a loss. He simply must go to a proper doctor... He was likely to be correct about being something of an anomaly to the medical industry, however. You wouldn't want to have him dissected. That sounded absolutely horrid. Immediate hospitalization apparently was not the best course of action.

Apparently you'd be performing minor surgery today.

You dabbed his ankle dry tentatively with the rag. He winced again.

Once more guilt came crashing over you in waves. Damn bear traps. Completely unethical. Why ever use them? However, you had no time to deal with such petty trials. You were busy playing doctor.

You informed him that you'd have to leave for a moment to procure a needle and thread before stepping out of the kitchen. You had an old box of sewing supplies upstairs, as well as a first aid kit. You collected the two and hurried back downstairs, pausing before door to the kitchen.

It struck you that he'd have to stay with you for a while and that you'd be responsible for nursing some magical creature of the forest back to health. It didn't seem all that unappealing, though, you weren't quite sure you were nurse material. You figured you'd run living arrangements by your still-nameless house guest later. The present didn't seem to be all that appropriate of a time to be inquiring about such things.

You reentered the room somewhat nervously, after all you were about to perform an operation. You briefly wondered if surgeons were ever nervous when they had to step up to the plate and take another human's life into their hands. Probably not. They had years of schooling under  their belts. They knew precisely what to do and when to do it.

You hadn't a clue what you were supposed to be doing.

You set you supplies down on the counter and stared at them for a moment. You were about to sew skin. Oh, that just sounded so unfathomably gruesome! You weren't sure you could go through with this.

You took a needle and a spindle of thread from the respective box. He was likely far more terrified than yourself. Besides, it was your responsibility, wasn't it?

He eyed you warily as you stepped beside him. It was apparent that he was just as ecstatic about the whole ordeal as you were yourself. You threaded the needle less professionally then you'd like to admit. But what could you say? That bastard string was surely against you.

Your aspirations in the field of humor did nothing to ease your mind.

His eyes were trained on your hands as you removed the towel from his ankle and readied your needle.

It seemed as though he was slightly less focused on the pain in his leg when he was talking, though, you had no idea what to say. Anything to suspend the inevitable sounds of agony that were about to ensue. You were doing your best to ignore his... more animalistic attributes. The flick of his tail. The way his ears perked towards your voice. Surely, it couldn't hurt to ask.

You asked him just exactly what made him such a variety of  _special._

He told you he was something of a magical forest creature, sans butterfly wings and tiara. A fox spirit, he told you. Something that had originated in Japan and was accidentally shipped over to North America in the times of the colonies when hunters had gotten a little too frisky. The fox population was down and the people had gotten pretty damn infatuated with just how perfect fox pelts were, thus they brought in some more, unintentionally bringing along a few of the  _special_ ones.

You decided that you liked the way he talked, even if his words were punctuated by undertones of pain.

Apparently, a fox spirit was simply a fox that could take on a human form. You wouldn't have believed something like that even existed if one wasn't sitting before you.

You asked if he might demonstrate for you.

He was unwilling.

You decided that it was time to stop lollygagging and actually use the needle already. Your hand shook. He looked away.

You tried to imagine you were simply sewing a hole in one of your shirts, which quickly failed as you began. The background score of pained noises wasn't helping much either. You worked as quickly as you dared, careful to not hurt him any more than you had to. This definitely ranked over the bear in your trashcan. You were terrified. 

By the time you had finished sewing up the first of the two bites, there was sweat upon your brow and your heart was thundering with such a passion you were afraid it was going to try and escape from your rib cage. The stitches were fairly accurate, which amazed you to no end. Surely you were only going to make the problem worse, but here you are! A natural int he medical field! Besides your quivering hands and constant perspiration. that is. Nevertheless, you were quite proud of your handiwork. Bloody thread in a leg wasn't all that lovely a sight to behold. You dabbed at the stitches with a cloth. Much better. One down. One to go. No problem...

You began the process again, re-threading the needle and pretending you could work without doubt.

As soon as you completed stitching up the second chomp in his ankle, you wrapped it all up in gauze. There were plenty on tears on your little fox friend's cheeks. You were quite surprised you weren't crying a bit yourself. The fact that he had managed to keep the majority of his distressed sounds under wraps was a wonder to you. He went a long way to rid himself of pointless embarrassment. 

You decided to move him into the living room once his leg was swaddled to your liking.

He didn't even try to struggle with you when you picked him up this time. You set him down onto the couch gently. He just slumped off to one side, exhausted, you figured. He must have spent all his energy on concealing his pain.

You asked him if you could get him anything. He shook his head softly.

"Not even water? Something to ease your pain at all?"

"I'm... okay."

That didn't sound very reassuring. You probably should't push him, though. He had enough to deal with without your added annoyances. He had lost his surly attitude as well, you noted. He must be too tired to be snide.

You told him you'd be right upstairs in the last room on the left. He nodded.

You had begun to ascend the stairs when he spoke. "My name's Dirk, by the way," he murmured softly. You had barely heard him.

You turned back to him and gave him a nod and a small smile before hurrying up the stairs to scrub your hands clean of any leftover blood.


End file.
